


Shuttlepod One

by BookJQ36



Series: The adventures of Malcolm Reed and my OFC [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-09
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookJQ36/pseuds/BookJQ36
Summary: After their ordeal on Pod One, Reed was pretty shaken up. How did he cope with everything in the days afterwards? Maybe an old friend (and a new one) gave him a hand.





	1. Important Business

_Mess Hall, E Deck, 0710 hours, November 8, 2151_

 Today was the day. Jean was tired of waiting, tired of dropping hints, and she damn sure was tired of wondering if the man she had fallen in love with thought of her as anything more than his best friend. Today was the day when she would find out, one way or the other, if her faith in storybook endings would be bolstered or puréed by real-world experience.

Yes sir. Today.

 She came into the mess hall and spotted him fairly quickly: Malcolm Reed, the man who had been occupying her thoughts for the last two months.

 She got herself a tray and joined the buffet line, helping herself to scrambled eggs, toast, yogurt and a mug of tea from the drinks dispenser. She headed over to the table where Malcolm was sitting and greeted him with a smile. “Good morning.”

 He took his eyes off of his PADD long enough to smile up at her, but his version of the gesture seemed to lack enthusiasm. “Morning.”

 She sat down, puzzled but by no means discouraged by his cool demeanor. Whenever he was wrapped up in a project, his focus elsewhere, particularly on social matters, tended to suffer. “Working on something interesting?”

 Malcolm shook his head at the PADD with a short, huffed breath and met her eyes. “Only if you think that shuttlepod targeting scanners are a particularly riveting subject.”

 She started to work on her eggs, flashing him a wry look. “Can’t say that I do. Then again, I’m not a weapons expert or an engineer.”

 He set the PADD down and took a sip of his own tea. “Well, those systems need to be tested, and by my calculations, for the test to be accurate it must be conducted at least twenty-thousand kilometres from _Enterprise_.” Malcolm grimaced. “As you pointed out, the test will require an engineer as well as a weapons expert, so I will have the pleasure of Commander Tucker’s company in Shuttlepod One for the next three and a half days. We’re due to launch at 0830.”

 “Oh.” Jean’s heart sank. The conversation she had planned on having with Malcolm wasn’t something which could be discussed anywhere as public as the Mess Hall or a corridor, and if things went as she hoped they would, it would be borderline cruel to squeeze in their talk between breakfast and disembarking on a four day away mission. After all, they were both victims of involuntary Starfleet celibacy, and getting more than Mal’s hopes up before sending him off in a cramped shuttlepod with Trip, where he would have no recourse for relieving any tension? That just wouldn’t be right. She tried to hide her disappointment, but Malcolm caught on that something was amiss.

 “What is it?”

 She forced a smile and ate a bit of her yogurt. “I just wanted to talk to you about something important today. It’s best discussed in private and it’s a conversation I’d rather not rush.”

 He raised his eyebrows, apparently intrigued. “Fair enough. We’ll talk when I get back.” He nodded, smiling pleasantly, and she wondered if he had any idea what the topic might be. He was very intelligent in the academic sense, which was one of the qualities that she admired most about him, but when it came to reading human social cues, she sometimes thought that he was less skilled than Phlox.

 She changed gears, going back to the topic of ‘two men in a boat.’ “So, almost four days alone with Trip.” She canted her head to one side and asked in a mock-innocent voice, “You looking forward to it?”

 Malcolm gave her a guarded look, then shrugged and picked up his PADD with a grudging smile. “We have had a few entertaining conversations, but I’m hardly ‘looking forward’ to being cooped up with him in a shuttle until the twelfth. His optimism tends to set my teeth on edge at the best of times, and there isn’t exactly any way to have time to oneself in a shuttlecraft. I suspect he’ll regale me with stories running the gamut between alligators and anti-matter injectors.”

 “Mister Reed, you are a curmudgeon.” She tossed her napkin at him, making sure that the cloth covered his PADD’s screen. “Maybe the cramped quarters will give you a chance to practice socializing. Not that I’m even close to getting tired of your company, but expanding your circle of friends isn’t a terrible idea.”

 He shook off her napkin and shot her a withering glance. “I hardly think that working on shuttle targeting scanners will foster any sort of lasting bond between us—”

 “Mal…” she reached across the table and tapped the back of his hand with her index finger. “Please? I’ve warmed up to him since we launched—” She raised her hands in mock surrender at his startled look. “Strictly platonic warming, of course, and I’d like to be able to socialize with both of you without anyone feeling uncomfortable. Just… give him a chance, okay?”

 He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. I’ll need something to read, just in case we finish the tests early. _Enterprise_ will be dropping us off and then heading to an asteroid field for some mapping project, so I’ll need some form of entertainment other than Mistah Tuckah’s fascinating stories and anecdotes.”

 She nodded. Her breakfast was mostly eaten by that point, and Malcolm’s food was long gone. He seemed about ready to leave, so she scrambled for an excuse to see him again before he left for his mission. “I can download something to a PADD for you while you’re getting ready. How does _Ulysses_ sound?”

 He pushed his chair back, standing up with the PADD still in hand, and a genuine smile lit up his face. “That sounds perfect, actually. I’ve always been fond of Joyce. Can you put it on this one and meet me in Launch Bay One in half an hour?”

 Jean smiled, taking the proffered PADD from him. “Sure thing. I’ll see you then.” Their fingers brushed during the hand-off and it took every bit of her self-control to not pounce on him right there. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that his smile had widened slightly during the brief moment of physical contact. Well, at least that was a good sign.

 Malcolm bobbed his head and briefly fiddled with his napkin, suddenly seeming nervous. “I’ll…” he cleared his throat and started again. “I’ll miss you, Jean.”

 She smiled at him, touched and pleasantly surprised that he had said so. “I’ll miss you too, Mal. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 He nodded again and headed for the mess door, leaving behind a slightly rumpled napkin. Jean stared thoughtfully at the cloth while she finished her breakfast. She remembered Hoshi saying something about Malcolm worrying at his napkin during what had come to be known as “The Enchilada Debacle”, and wondered if it was significant that he had been doing something similar just now. It had certainly been a long time since he had acted nervous around her, and only one crazy long-shot of a reason for such behavior occurred to her, but she was reluctant to get her hopes up.

 She took the PADD to her quarters so she could use the terminal there to download the book. She could have used any terminal on board, really, but she had a surprise planned for Malcolm, and to do it right she needed some privacy. It seemed that today wasn’t going to be the day after all, but the day wasn’t too far off, and she had one more big hint to drop before the twelfth rolled around.


	2. Important Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: This first bit is my interpretation of this canon scene, with a little bit of added dialogue to help it fit better into my ficverse. Please read and review!

_Pod 1, November 10 2151_

 "My dearest Rochelle, by this time I'm certain you've learned of the tragedy..."

 Trip dropped his tools into his lap and burst out in a frustrated voice, "Wouldn't it be easier just to record one message and then add the 'dear whoever' afterwards? This is your fifth or sixth identical letter!"

 Malcolm stopped recording and turned to face the engineer, stung by the unjust gibe. "That's not true, there have been subtle differences. I would never refer to Rochelle as having a 'beautiful smile'." He paused and added, wistfully remembering, "with her it was the eyes."

 Trip smiled sadly. "D'you remember how Jean's eyes would shine whenever she was laughing?"

 Malcolm nodded, his sombre expression momentarily replaced by a happier one. "When wasn't she laughing? She had a lovely smile and the eyes to match.” The smile drained from his face. “She would have been twenty-eight next week." He looked down at the deck plating between his boots and shivered. At least he would be joining her soon.

 "Next week?" Trip shook his head and looked absently at the defunct sensor relay in his hands. "She was too young to die like that; they all were. Travis and Hoshi couldn't’ve been more than what, twenty-four, twenty-five?"

 "If the captain were here with us now, I wonder if he'd regret bringing them on this mission?"

 Trip shook his head, frowning. “I knew the Cap’n a long time, an’ I’m sure he wouldn’t… not for a minute. They died doing what they loved."

 Malcolm turned back to the console and started to nod, then he looked up and his brow furrowed. "I don't remember Hoshi loving much about being in deep space."

 "Nah, she was comin' along. She saved our asses on more’n one occasion. I'm plannin' on letting her family know just how essential she was." He went back to working on the sensor relay lying in his lap.

 Malcolm nodded in agreement and looked over at Trip. "Hmm. Sounds to me like you do have some letters of your own to record."

 Trip shook his head in disagreement without bothering to look up from the sensor relay. "I'll wait to tell them in person."

 Exasperated, Malcolm 'humphed' and shook his head before looking at the other man. "You know, your treacly optimism is beginning to get just a wee bit tiresome."

 Trip looked up sharply and cocked his head to one side, spitting out sarcastically, "Unlike your heartfelt letters of farewell to half the girls of San Francisco?"

 "At least I'm capable of accepting our fate!" Malcolm retorted angrily. "We're going to be dead in about thirty-three hours. Whether our beards continue to grow or not is of no concern to me, we will be _dead_! And unless some ship _happens_ to cross our path, our bearded bodies will be discovered in about three or four years, is that optimistic enough for you?"

 As Malcolm continued, his voice rose and became increasingly upset, while Trip dropped his gaze back to the deck and his tools, waiting for the diatribe to end. When it finally did, the engineer looked over at him wonderingly for a brief instant, and then responded, equally incensed. "What's your problem with havin’ a little _hope_?"

"What's _your_ problem with facing the truth?" The fire had gone out of Malcolm's argument after that last shot; now he just sat in the pilot's chair with his hands in his jacket pockets, hunched over slightly and staring at one of the guidance displays without seeing it.

 "You're a regular Grim Reaper, Malcolm, anyone ever tell you that?"

 When Malcolm didn't react, Trip opened the compartment where the emergency rations were and sat beside it. “Well, if this little trip is a death sentence, then it would seem to me that we’re entitled to a last meal. What’ll it be? I’m afraid our selection is somewhat limited...”

 “I’m not hungry.” Reed continued staring through the pilot’s console.

 Trip took out the bottle of bourbon which they had found earlier and looked it over thoughtfully, slowly tilting it in his hand so that the golden-brown alcohol inside swirled around. “Well then, how ‘bout a drink?”

 He huffed at the absurdity of the idea. “I don’t drink on duty.”

 Trip’s shoulders sagged and he turned around to eye the other man incredulously. “Are you serious? We’re dead men, remember.” As he spoke, he put the bottle off to the side and removed the strut which was still holding the compartment open, emerging with two glasses. “What’s the matter, lieutenant? Are you afraid the autopsy’ll show your blood-alcohol level was too high to pilot a shuttle?”

 He poured a glass for each of them and held one out to his colleague. "Live a little, that's an order."

 Malcolm reluctantly accepted the glass, but didn't drink it right away. He sat with his shoulders hunched forward, staring at the glass of bourbon in his hand and shivering fitfully.

 Trip downed his bourbon in one swallow, and began assembling a candle. He lit it, and then stared at the flame thoughtfully.

 Malcolm gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you really think that’s going to provide any heat?”

 “The bourbon’ll provide the heat. The candle’s just for mood.”

 The Englishman noticed that Trip was eyeing his untouched liquor, so he wasn’t too surprised when the engineer proposed a toast.

 “To the brave men and women of the starship _Enterprise._ ”

 Malcolm was a bit surprised at the gesture and still reluctant to drink while he was technically on shift, but out of respect for his fallen crewmates and friends, he tilted back his glass and had a swallow of liquor. Afterwards he lowered the glass, still with a mouthful of bourbon swirling around at the bottom, and let out a shaky breath. The shuttle was so cold by that point that both his and Trip’s breath was visible.

 "You know that'll consume oxygen, don't you?"

 Staring into the flame as though he was trying to mentally warm himself, Trip shrugged. "We'll prob’ly be dead five or six minutes sooner than we would’a been, I can live with that. Anyway, it seems to me as far as you're concerned the sooner the better."

 Malcolm looked up and turned his head towards the other man, a mixture of surprise and sadness on his face.

 "Is that really how you see me? The eternal pessimist, the ‘Grim Reaper’? I don't want to die, what makes you think I want to die?" Feeling hurt and confused, he looked down at the bourbon in his glass, hoping to find an answer which would deaden the sting from his officer's words.

 "Because ever since we saw Enterprise spread across that asteroid, you've done nothing but write your own obituary." There was no comfort in these words, nothing beyond what Trip evidently considered to be fact.

 Malcolm turned his whole body this time and fixed a sad but steady gaze on the commander. "I lost nearly everyone I cared about on that ship.” His voice was tight with emotion, and as he spoke, he turned away from Trip and started talking at the guidance console. It was easier not to look at the other man, but staring at the shuttle’s equipment reminded him of every time he’d been in the pod, which, in turn, made him remember who was sitting at each station on those missions. It forced him to remember the individuals whose deaths he was trying so very hard to make sense of.

 “Those girls I talked about; Deborah, Rochelle, Caitlin, none of them worked out because I could... never get very close to them. I never got very close to my family for that matter, not that it's any business of yours. But with the crew of the Enterprise it was different, I was really starting to feel... comfortable with them."

  _With certain ones more than others_ , he thought, grief-stricken at the realization that he would never see Jean or Travis again. His voice was choked with tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that for once his emotions were plain to see.

 “Jean was the only woman I’ve ever really felt close to. She... appreciated me, cared about me, could always manage to make me laugh, and despite my efforts to protect _her_ , she always watched _my_ back. Said that someone had to look out for the man who protects everyone else.”

 Trip smiled fondly. “Yeah, she sure is somethin’.”

 Malcolm fixed him with a brief, anguished glare, grinding out, “She _was_ , Commander. She _was_ something. She was my dearest friend, knew things about me that I never—” He bit down hard on his lip, hoping to distract himself with some physical pain. He shut his eyes tight, flinching slightly when his imagination conjured up an unbidden scene: Jean putting her arms around him, shushing him and telling it would all be all right.

  _“Stop worrying, silly man,”_ she would say, holding him close. _“Everything turned out just fine. As a matter of fact, Chef made pineapple cake to celebrate your safe return.”_

She would kiss him, and he’d be surprised, pulling back slightly to see her better. Her expression would be soft, and she’d smile, putting a hand on his cheek.

_“Oh, Malcolm, I was so worried about you, worried I wouldn’t get a chance to tell you this, but now that you’re back safe, I can. I love you. I love you, Malcolm, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I was too afraid to say anything before, but this last near miss has made me realize that I want to spend every possible moment with you, because the next time a mission goes wrong, you may not come back, and I don’t want to waste any more time being afraid...”_

 He forcibly snapped himself out of the fantasy.

  _That’s never going to happen now, so you can just forget about it. Even if she weren’t dead, it’s a pie in the sky dream that she ever felt that way about you. Stop torturing yourself with ‘what ifs’. You’re stuck with_ Mr. Sunshine _for the next day and a half, which will be the rest of your life, and you’re not likely to get any sympathy from him. Better resign yourself to that fact. The cold atmosphere in the pod isn’t just because of the thermostat._

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes started to well up, but then he recalled who was left alive, and he couldn't help but appreciate the cruel irony.

 "She’s gone. I’ll never see her again, and now, out of the whole damned crew, the only one that's left thinks I'm the bloody Angel of Death!" He let out a short and bitter muffled laugh, then drained the rest of his bourbon in one swig.

 Apparently moved by his rare outburst, Trip blew out the candle and looked pensively in Malcolm's direction. "All of a sudden five or six more minutes sounds kinda nice."


	3. Surprise

They sat in silence for what seemed like an hour, each man alone with his own thoughts. The quiet was soothing after all the harsh words that had been exchanged, so when Malcolm’s PADD suddenly crackled to life with a sound file of a gong being struck, they both nearly jumped out of their skins.

 Trip looked around wildly, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. “What the hell?”

 Malcolm held up a hand, motioning the other man to be quiet, and listened intently.

 “ _Hello, this is Jean Olenick with a surprise message for Commander Charles Tucker III and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. By the time this message plays it should be sometime on November tenth, which will be about halfway through your little jaunt. Now, assuming that you two are getting along in your cramped quarters, or that you at least haven’t killed each other, I’m guessing that you’re probably still ‘riveted’ by the targeting scanners, but just in case you aren’t, here’s a little in-flight entertainment. Mal, this song is for you:”_

 She began to sing a jazz tune that Trip knew was one of her favorites.

  _“There's a somebody I'm longing to see  
I hope that he turns out to be  
Someone to watch over me…  
  
I'm a little lamb who's lost in a wood  
I know I could always be good_ _  
To one who'll watch over me…  
  
Although he may not be the man some _  
_Girls think of as handsome_  
 _To my heart he carries the key_  
  
_Won't you tell him please to put on some speed_  
 _Follow my lead, oh how I need_  
 _Someone to watch over me_  
 _Someone to watch over me_

_Okay, guys, I hope you enjoyed that song, and I’ll see you both in… yep, two days, and try not to miss me too much. I know it’s difficult, but try anyway, and please try to get along and stay safe. Olenick ou- no, Merri, get down from the desk. No, don’t step on th-”_

 The message cut off, leaving the pod in silence again, but now it was less soothing than oppressive. Malcolm stared at the now-silent PADD with a haunted look on his face.

 Trip got up from the bench he had been sitting on ever since he disassembled the candle and carried over the bottle of bourbon. He intended to refill the other man’s glass so he sat down at the ops position, behind and to the left of the pilot’s seat. “Malcolm?”

 The lieutenant jerked slightly and Trip put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Hey, easy.” Tucker fiddled with the bottle for a few moments. “You love her, don’t’cha?”

 Malcolm shrugged off his hand, refusing to look at him. “That’s none of your business, Commander.”

 Trip smiled tightly. “And that’s not a ‘no’, Lieutenant.”

 The other man hunched in on himself miserably, staring into his empty glass. “It hardly matters now. In any case, I doubt she would have had me.”

 Trip sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he put the pieces together. No wonder the man was so damned miserable. Unrequited love was a bitch at the best of times, but to find out that the object of your affection had died and that your own death was imminent as well – at least as far as Malcolm was concerned – and then to get a message from the girl? That _had_ to hurt. He refilled Malcolm’s glass with bourbon, groping around for something kind to say.

 “Look, Malcolm… I’m sorry about jumpin’ up an’ down on you. If you wanna write that letter to your folks now, I’ll keep my damn mouth shut an’ just let you do it. Okay?”

 “Actually, there is one more letter I need to record,” Malcolm shot him a wary look, “but it isn’t to my parents.”

 Trip nodded and turned his chair to face the rear bench where his open toolkit was. “Okay. I’ll take another crack at the transmitter an’ just leave you to it.”

 The lieutenant entered the necessary commands into the Shuttle’s console and then paused, glancing back towards Trip. The engineer gave him an encouraging nod, and he started recording.

 “Dear Gwen, I don’t know when you will get this message, but before it arrives you will doubtless have heard about the destruction of the starship _Enterprise._ My colleague Commander Tucker and I were on a mission away from the ship when the disaster occurred, so we don’t know what might have caused it, but our Shuttlepod only had a few days of air left when we discovered debris from _Enterprise,_ so we will most likely not survive long enough to be rescued. I am writing this letter to express my gratitude both to yourself and to Jean’s father for accepting me into your extended family. I always appreciated being included in your family gatherings, especially at Thanksgiving and around the winter holidays, and I wanted to tell you how much those times meant to me.”

 When he heard that, Trip almost dropped his tools out of pure surprise. He had no idea that Malcolm had gotten so close to Jean’s folks, and it was especially unexpected since the man hadn’t gotten close to his own family, which was just sad. He stared at Malcolm, and when the other man caught him looking, he paused the recording, clearly uncertain about what the commander might be about to say or do. Trip waved one hand, urging the lieutenant to continue, and kept his own mouth firmly shut.

Malcolm pressed a button to resume the recording, but glanced over at the commander a few times as he started talking again. Trip sighed. He knew that he had acted like an ass earlier, and after everything he had said, he could hardly blame Reed for being cautious. Especially considering how personal these messages obviously were to him.

 “I cared very deeply for your daughter, and the only thing which I regret more than not telling her how I felt about her when I still had the chance to do so, is the fact that I was unable to protect her from whatever disaster befell the ship. Since Captain Archer is dead as well, and therefore unable to write a condolence letter, I feel it is important that I tell you how dedicated, skilful and kind Jean was, and that she managed to either impress or surprise me every day. She could always make me laugh, and insisted that I try to smile more often…” Malcolm paused the recording again and took several shaky breaths.

 When Trip looked closer, he could see that the other man was on the verge of tears. He set aside his tools and put a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder, hoping to comfort him in some way. Reed tensed at the contact, so Trip made sure to keep his voice gentle. “This is one hell of a letter, Lieutenant. I’m sure they’ll be glad to get it. It’s good to get all this recorded, I guess. Just in case, right? Can't hurt.”

 Malcolm nodded but didn’t look at him. “I met them several times… they said it was a family tradition to ‘take in strays’, people who are friends of theirs and would otherwise be on their own during the holidays. Apparently, it’s something of a family tradition which started with Jean’s great-grandparents.” He smiled faintly to himself, finally turning to face Trip as he continued. ”Her step-mother, Gwen, is quite a character. More barmy than Jean, even, and just as spontaneous. Jean’s father and I have had some stimulating conversations about history and politics.” He stared into his glass of bourbon and had a mouthful, muttering afterwards, “if only my father had been a bit more like him.”

 Trip squeezed his shoulder gently. “The cap’n didn’t say much about talkin’ to Reed Senior, but I did get the feeling that he’s never been up for Father of The Year.”

 The other man nodded. “I just…” Malcolm sighed, closing his eyes with a pained expression, “I feel that I owe them _something_ , and I can’t even give them an explanation as to why they’ll never see her again.”

 Trip understood that. He felt the same way about Travis and Hoshi, not to mention his whole engineering staff, but he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it until Reed brought it up. “Well, why don’t you tell ‘em about one of those family get-togethers instead? I’m sure they’d like to know how much you enjoyed ‘em.”

 Malcolm smiled faintly, seeming to appreciate the advice. “Thanks.”

 “Want me to go back to the bench? Give you some privacy?”

 The lieutenant gave a non-committal shrug, staring at the console. “You can hear me well enough from back there,” a wry smirk curved his mouth upwards before he added, “and I may need a bit more whiskey to finish this letter.”

 The engineer chuckled at that, nodding, “Then I’ll stay here with the bottle.”

 Malcolm smiled a bit, then rewound the recording slightly so he could pick up the letter where he had left off. “ _She could always make me laugh, and insisted that I try to smile more often,”_ he hit the ‘record’ button and continued from there. “Something that always made me smile were your family gatherings. The happiest Christmas I can remember having was last year, especially when little Keisha started calling me ‘Uncle Malcolm’ and insisted that I give her piggy-back rides around the living room.”

 Trip grinned at the visual but didn’t say a word, instead just standing by with their bottle of liquid courage in case the other man wanted it.

 “I treasured my time as her adopted uncle. Please tell James that I’m glad he gave me the chance to spend time with his daughter, and that I regret not being able to play uncle for his recently-arrived second child. Please pass along, as well, my appreciation at having found a kindred spirit in him. I wasn’t expecting Jean’s cousin to be a firearms expert, so it was a very happy surprise to be able to talk with him at length about weapons and tactics, although we may have bored everyone else in the room to tears. You probably won’t hear about _Enterprise’_ s destruction before Christmas, so at least your holidays won’t have a dark pall over them…”

 After a quick swipe at his eyes, he cleared his throat and continued. “Please don’t lie to Keisha about what happened to me and her Auntie Jean, but wait until she’s a bit older before telling her the full truth. She’ll only be six years old this Christmas, and that is far too young to be thinking about death. Give my best to everyone and know that I think of you all with great affection. Sincerely yours, Malcolm.”

 Once the lieutenant stopped recording, Trip topped off both of their glasses and patted his back. “Lets get drunk.”

 Malcolm tossed back his drink in one swallow and held out his glass again. “Hear, hear.”


	4. On Tenterhooks

Archer stepped onto the bridge from his ready room, watching as T’Pol took her station, and sat in his chair as he looked over at Hoshi. “Any news on the pod?”

 The Comm Officer shook her head. “No hails, Captain.”

 The captain swiveled to face his Science Officer. “T’Pol?”

 Her fingers danced over the console for a moment before she turned to check her viewer. “I’m still detecting Shuttlepod One on long-range sensors, but we are at too great a distance to conduct a more detailed scan.” She turned to face the captain again, wearing what he had learned to recognize as the Vulcan version of confusion.

 He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is there a problem?” It was his experience that on the rare occasions when T’Pol became confused by something other than Human customs, bad news was usually imminent.

 She examined her instruments again. “I’m not certain. They are not in the asteroid field, and their current heading indicates a course towards a blue giant which we passed last week.”

 Archer frowned in what he knew was a very Human expression of confusion and displeasure. “That doesn’t make sense.” He turned to Hoshi. “Hail them about the new rendezvous.”

 Hoshi nodded, one hand to her little earpiece. “ _Enterprise_ to Shuttlepod One. Commander Tucker, please respond.”

 The bridge was silent as they waited for a reply, but none came.

 The captain stepped over to her station. “Hoshi?”

Hoshi pressed a few buttons on her console and frowned. “The channel’s open, sir. They should be receiving us.”

 Archer was starting to get worried. He couldn’t imagine a situation where either Trip or Malcolm would ignore a hail, and he started picturing possible scenarios. Images of his officers injured, or worse, flashed before his mind’s eye, but he quickly got a hold of himself. There was no use in getting worked up over one unanswered hail. Maybe something was wrong with their transceiver. He shook his head, hoping that the explanation was something that innocuous. “Keep trying them.”

 “Yes, sir.” Hoshi turned all of her focus to the comm channel. “Shuttlepod One, this is Enterprise. Please respond. We are transmitting new rendezvous co-ordinates. We have been forced to change our heading because of dangerous micro-singularities in the asteroid field we were mapping. Set a course for the new coordinates immediately and prepare to rendezvous in forty-eight hours. Shuttlepod One, please respond. Adjust your heading to the new co-ordinates. We will rendezvous in two days. Commander and Lieutenant, please respond.”

 Hoshi repeated variations on the same hail for the next minute while the atmosphere on the bridge became more and more uneasy. Archer paced, trying to channel his worried energy by moving around, but it didn’t help. He noticed that after each repetition of the message Hoshi would wait for ten seconds, during which she leaned slightly to her left, pressing her earpiece close as she strained to hear a reply. She did a good job of keeping the frustration out of her voice, but towards the end of the most recent transmission she had sounded worried.

 The captain stopped pacing and stood by her station. He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder and tried for a reassuring smile, but he had a sinking feeling that it ended up being more of a grimace. “That’s enough for now, Hoshi. Try them again in half an hour.”

 She nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, sir.”

 He patted her arm and stepped back to his chair, addressing T’Pol as he sat down. “Keep an eye on long-range sensors. I want to know the _second_ we’re close enough to scan for bio-signs.”

 T’Pol nodded, turning to look into her viewer again. After about ten minutes, she spoke again. “Captain, I’m detecting some anomalous energy readings at the coordinates where Shuttlepod One was a few moments ago.”

 Archer felt his heart leap into his throat at her words. He shared a worried look with Travis and Hoshi as he stood up and moved to stand in front of the Vulcan’s station. “What do you mean ‘where it _was_ ’? Isn’t it there anymore?”

 T’Pol turned back towards the main bridge and analyzed the readings on her console for a few moments before she raised her head to reply. “Inconclusive. The shuttlepod’s mass has decreased by approximately twenty-seven percent and I am no longer detecting an active propulsion system. These changes occurred immediately following what seems to have been an explosion.”

 Archer felt his eyes go wide. The uneasiness that had settled in his gut when the shuttlepod didn’t respond to their hails was rapidly congealing into a tight knot of fear. “Travis, change course to intercept the pod, and step on it. Best possible speed.”

 The helmsman nodded, making the necessary adjustments. “Aye sir, new course laid in and increasing speed to warp four-point-five.” He didn’t turn around, so Archer couldn’t see his face, but Travis’ back and shoulders tensed in a way which suggested that the young ensign was worried.

 ‘You and me both, Travis,’ the captain thought as he sat back in his chair. “Let’s hope those two haven’t gotten themselves into too much trouble.”


	5. Play It, Malcolm

 Shortly after they detonated the engine, Malcolm got up from the pilot’s seat and made his way to the back of the pod. He sat down on the deck plating with his back to the rear ladder and tugged his blanket tighter.

 “We have to survive.”

 Trip choked out a harsh laugh. “I’m with ya there, Malcolm. Stuff I need to do, places I’ve always wanted to see…”

 Malcolm shook his head. “No. If we don’t survive, when _Enterprise_ finds us… what do you think will happen?”

 The engineer shrugged. “The cap’n’ll wanna find out what the hell happened, so T’Pol will do scans, Hoshi’ll go over the comm logs, my staff’ll pull the damn shuttle apart, and Phlox’ll do autopsies.”

 “Exactly!”

 Trip looked at the other man, not understanding what he was getting at. “What d’ya mean ‘exactly’?”

 “If Phlox does our autopsies, who do you think will be helping him? Hmm? Think it’ll be Travis?”

 Trip let his head fall forward, groaning as he realized what would happen. “Oh no.”

 Malcolm nodded angrily. “Getting it now, are we?”

 “Jean. She’ll… oh God.” Trip moved to join him, realizing that there might be some lingering heat from the blast wave of the explosion at the back of the pod. He briefly considered removing the padded seats from the rear benches and sitting on those, just to give themselves some sort of buffer between their bodies and the increasingly cold deck plating, but he decided the idea could be implemented later. Once he was sitting, he took a swig of the bourbon. He handed the bottle off to Malcolm, who also had a swig.

 Malcolm tugged his blanket tight again and shut his eyes. “I saw her after a bad day working at hospital in San Francisco. It was barely 1500 and she went straight for the vodka, and that was over people she didn’t even _know._ She cried, damn it all. Bloody strangers and she cried for them. What do you think she’ll do for us, hmm? I don’t want to do _anything_ to make her cry.” His voice became more resolute and he opened his eyes again, pointing a badly shaking finger at Trip. “I _won’t_ make her cry, and neither will you.”

 The engineer nodded in agreement. “I hear ya, Malcolm. I hear ya.” He had a swig of bourbon and when he was lowering the bottle, something on the floor caught his eye. “Is that your PADD?”

 The other man squinted, trying to see what Trip was pointing at, and he eventually nodded. “It is. Why?” He reached out for the PADD, his fingers clumsy from the cold, and managed to pick the thing up.

 Trip swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Can you… try to play that file she set up for you?”

 Malcolm blinked at him owlishly, looking confused. “I don’t see why not.”

 Trip just nodded. “Good. Play it.”

 “Why?”

 The engineer shuddered. “Because I wanna hear her sing. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, an’ I’m sick of yours, now will you just play the damn song?” He let out a shaky sigh, and he honestly wasn’t sure if his breath was ragged because of the cold or because of how upset he was. “Just play it, Malcolm. Please.”

 The other man fumbled with the PADD for a few moments, and then Jean’s warm voice wafted through the freezing pod.

 “ _Hello, this is Jean Olenick with a surprise message for Commander Charles Tucker III and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. By the time this message plays it should be sometime on November tenth, which will be about halfway through your little jaunt. Now, assuming that you two are getting along in your cramped quarters, or that you at least haven’t killed each other…”_

 Trip watched Malcolm’s face, realizing how painful this message must have been for the other man the first time through, and that it wasn’t much easier for him to hear this time.

  _“Mal, this song is for you:_

  _“There's a somebody I'm longing to see_  
_I hope that he turns out to be_  
 _Someone to watch over me…”_  


Trip shook his head as the song went on, realizing just how well the music fit with Malcolm and Jean’s friendship. When she couldn’t find the words to say something, she often used music to get her point across, and considering the fact that she had chosen to sing a love song… He smiled to himself, wondering why the lieutenant hadn’t put the pieces together yet. He didn’t want to talk over the song, though, so he decided to wait until the recording finished.

  
“… _To my heart he carries the key_  
  
_Won't you tell him please to put on some speed_  
 _Follow my lead, oh how I need_  
 _Someone to watch over me_  
 _Someone to watch over me_

_Okay, guys, I hope you enjoyed that song, and I’ll see you both in… yep, two days, and try not to miss me too much. I know it’s difficult, but try anyway, and please try to get along and stay safe. Olenick ou- no, Merri, get down from the desk. No, don’t step on th-”_

Malcolm stared at the PADD as the sound of Jean’s voice faded. He shivered convulsively, and Trip watched him, waiting for the right moment to speak. To kill time, he took a swig of bourbon and then handed the bottle off to the Brit.

“So,” the engineer finally said. “That’s a pretty romantic song she picked for you.”

The lieutenant had a mouthful of the whiskey and shrugged. “I suppose it is. She loves jazz.”

Trip let out an annoyed breath and shook his head, suddenly wanting to grab the other man by his jacket and point out what was, at least to him, blatantly obvious. Of course, he knew that that approach wouldn’t work. This called for something a bit more subtle. “D’you think maybe there was a reason she picked _that_ song for you?”

 Malcolm seemed puzzled for a moment, then frowned and shook his head, handing the bottle back again. “Why would there be?”

 The commander let his head fall forward, groaning into his blanket in the face of his companion’s denseness. “For cryin’ out loud, Malcolm. She _loves_ you! I mean, ‘ _to my heart he carries the key’_ ? How much clearer do you need her to be?”

 The Brit frowned deeper this time, staring at the pilot’s chair and still holding the bottle out. “You’re reading too much into it, Commander. It’s just a song, not a damned coded message.”

 Trip’s frustration got the better of him and he gave in to his earlier impulse, grabbing the other man by his jacket and getting in his face. “Listen to me, you pessimistic pain in the ass: she loves you. Don’t ask me why, but she _does._ ” He let go of Reed’s jacket and sat back against the ladder, watching the stunned lieutenant blink. “Any damn fool can see it,” Trip went on, “I really don’t know why you can’t.”

 Malcolm seemed to believe him for a minute, relaxing slightly and letting a bit of a smile cross his face, but it didn’t last. He hunched his shoulders and pulled his blanket close, avoiding eye contact. “You’re wrong, Commander. If they find us in time, you can ask her yourself, but she will doubtless tell you that her choice of song _wasn’t_ meant to convey any sort of message.”

 Trip shook his head. Maybe the lieutenant didn’t want to get his hopes up, or he didn’t think that he was good enough for a woman like Jean. Whatever the reason, Malcolm stubbornly refused to see what was right in front of his face. Trip smiled grimly to himself, because now he had a new reason to hope that _Enterprise_ found them in time: he couldn’t wait to say ‘I told you so’ when Jean proved the cynical Brit wrong.


	6. Popsicles

Captain Archer was sitting in his quarters, bouncing his water polo ball off of the wall above his desk and not really paying attention to a Stanford vs. Yale game which was playing on his monitor. Two Alpha shifts had come and gone since _Enterprise_ had first tried to contact Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed about the changed rendezvous. They were well into Beta shift of day two, and there was still no answer from the pod. On that first day, Jon had stayed on the Bridge after his shift ended and he was tempted to stay longer, but when he realized that Hoshi and Travis were going to follow his example, he handed the reins over to T’Pol and ‘invited’ both ensigns to join him in the turbolift. He smiled tightly at the thought. On the bridge or off, as long as he was within reach of a comm panel he could get a situation report any time he liked. Senior staff and bridge officers though they were, the ensigns weren’t as fortunate. Of course, considering the efficiency of the ship’s grapevine and how in tune with it Hoshi was, he was fairly certain that there would be less than an hour’s lag time between T’Pol reporting any news to him and his Comm Officer hearing about it from someone.

 Lieutenant Hess and her repair team had finished replacing but not installing the starboard door of Launch Bay Two that morning. Jon was sure that they had done a fine job, but until the situation with Shuttlepod One was resolved he was unwilling to drop out of warp in order to complete or inspect the repairs. He smiled to himself. That could easily wait until Trip and Malcolm were back, and he was sure that his Chief Engineer would be pleased with the work his second had done while she was in charge. His smile faded. Assuming, of course, that Trip was in any state to _be_ pleased.

 “T’Pol to the captain.”

 Jon paused the playback on his monitor with one hand while the other hand simultaneously thumbed the comm panel.

 “Go ahead.” Jon winced when his forgotten water polo ball bounced off of the wall and hit him in the side of his head. He grimaced slightly, rubbing at the area while he listened to his SIC.

 “We’re within scanning range of Shuttlepod One,” T’Pol announced, and she seemed to anticipate his response, because she continued without pause. “I am reading two human bio-signs aboard, but they are faint.”

 The captain stood and headed for the door to his cabin, grabbing a communicator so he could keep talking to T’Pol while he made his way through the ship. He resisted the urge to ask her just how faint the life signs were, since he knew well enough that their scanners weren’t calibrated for medical precision. “How long till we reach them?”

 “Ten minutes at our current speed.”

 Jon shook his head as he stepped into the corridor. “Go to warp four-point-eight. Are they answering hails?”

 “No. Their transceiver appears to be damaged, which may account for the lack of communication.”

 Jon nodded, walking faster and hoping that the transceiver and not his officers’ faint bio-signs were to blame for the silent treatment that Pod One was giving them. “Use the grappler and bring it into Launch Bay One. Have Doctor Phlox and a medical team meet me there. What is the status of their other systems?”

 T’Pol’s voice came over the communicator steady as ever. “Their impulse engine is missing and I have detected traces of an explosion, but the craft is intact. Scans show two sealed hull breaches, an atmosphere aboard and that the pod’s life support system is operational, however, the internal temperature is 23°F.”

 “Tell Phlox to be ready for two possibly hypothermic patients.”

 “Understood.” 

* * *

 

Sickbay was a flurry of activity. Phlox, Jean, Liz Cutler, Isaac Jenkins and another corpsman were gathering supplies and piling them onto a pair of gurneys. Liz helped Jean put a warming unit full of towels and IV bags onto one of the gurneys. Jean moved mechanically, trying to focus on the job at hand instead of worrying about the two officers who would most likely become their patients in a few minutes.

 Liz put an oxygen mask and heating apparatus on the gurney they were loading and then took a container of heating pads from a drawer. “Do we need anything else?”

 Jean blinked, realizing that she had spaced out for a moment, and then looked over their supplies. “Just an IV port and needle.” She smiled nervously, glancing down at her hands. “I’ve got ‘em right here. Let’s get moving.”

 The exobiologist-turned-nurse nodded and turned to notify Phlox that they were heading out while Jean started pushing their gurney towards the door.

 The Denobulan made a pleased sound as he continued to bustle around. “Excellent, Crewman. Comm the captain and inform him that we are on our way, and then I need you to go ahead of Jean and make sure that we have a clear path to Launch Bay One.”

 “Understood.”

 Phlox and two of the corpsmen were loading up the other gurney with identical supplies, and after the doctors had examined the officers, each team of three would be responsible for getting one of the officers to Sickbay.

 Jean was barely out the door when she heard Phlox start moving his own gurney towards the hall, and she sent up a silent prayer that they wouldn’t need to use the cardio stimulators on either Trip or Malcolm. She wasn’t religious and never had been, but she figured that any help was welcome. She had become close to both men, but much as she liked and respected Trip, her feelings for Malcolm were much deeper. She hadn’t had the nerve to say anything about it to him, at least not directly, always telling herself that the timing wasn’t right or that he didn’t need the distraction, but deep down she knew that the delays were really because she had just been afraid of what he might say. Or worse, what he might _not_ say.

 She knew that he cared about her. It had been obvious ever since their first mission to Chalderon, but she didn’t know if his feelings for her were strictly platonic or not. She knew how seriously he took the regulations on fraternization, so it stood to reason that their differing ranks were likely to be an issue. When the Starfleet brass had promoted her to lieutenant before their return trip to Chalderon, she had thought that the rules were no longer an obstacle to them having a relationship, but then there had been the Enchilada Debacle.

 When Hoshi told her about the Englishman’s stated reluctance to become involved with a crewmate and had confirmed that he didn’t even mention their differing ranks as being an problem, Jean had been discouraged. She hadn’t considered that Malcolm might have _personal_ rules about who it was appropriate to date, although in hindsight she knew that it was something she should have expected. Hoshi had pointed out later, while helping her pick apart everything Malcolm had said during that exchange, that he had opened with the fact that they worked together, which might make matters awkward. Hoshi encouraged her, adding that since Jean only worked with him on away missions, it shouldn’t be a problem. Ever since then, Jean had been dropping hints and hoping he would catch on. The fact that he _still_ hadn’t made a move could mean either one of two things: he got the message, but was choosing to ignore it, or for some unfathomable reason he hadn’t caught on yet. Now, as she double-timed through the corridors, she realized that it didn’t matter. Either way, it was up to her to make the first move, and she sure as hell was ready to do just that. Always assuming that he was still… no. She shook her head, refusing to even consider the possibility that Malcolm might not survive.

 Liz came from behind her after Jean rounded the first turn, making the doctor jump as she started down the curved corridor, and Liz continued on in a uniformed blur until she was a couple of meters ahead of Jean’s gurney. The crewman smiled at her and nodded back towards Sickbay, walking backwards for a few steps. “Isaac’s on his way. Guess who gets to play crossing guard?”

 Jean smiled back dutifully. “Too bad there’s no direct route to the launch bays. I’m taking us there via the starboard corridors, since I’ve got a feeling that cutting through Engineering just wouldn’t be kosher.”

 The crewman gave a nervous chuckle, checking that the next junction was clear and then nodding that they could proceed. “Probably not. Still, it’s only about ninety meters from here. We’ll be there in no time.”

 The lieutenant shook her head, hanging a right turn at the starboard deuterium conditioner room. “Right, the same ‘no time’ it took us to get all this stuff ready.” Jean gestured to the equipment on the gurney with her chin, sighing. “Almost five minutes down the drain. ETA to the pod was ten minutes…”

 Corpsman Jenkins joined them and helped her push the gurney along. He shook his head slightly, joining the conversation. “The pod still has to be brought on board and the launch bay has to re-pressurize before we can go in. That adds about five minutes. We’ll probably get there before all of that is even done, and we’ll end up just standing around waiting for a while.”

 Jean sighed again as Liz went on to check the next junction. “I know. You’re probably right, Isaac, I just...”

 He gave her a knowing look. “You’re worried. We all are.” The corpsman shook his head slightly. “I feel like I’ve had this conversation before, with Lieutenant Reed when he was worrying about you.” He chuckled. “We were pushing a gurney then, too, but we were heading _to_ Sickbay, not away from it.” Isaac nodded when Liz gave the all clear and they turned onto the corridor which ran alongside the starboard isolation labs.

 Liz joined them and gave Jean a reassuring nod. “If their life signs had changed, we would have heard about it, and you know how good our medical team is. If the guys aren’t okay right now, we’ll make sure that they _are_ okay before too long, and then, with any luck, one of you will make a move.”

 Cutler grinned at her after the last part, and Jean couldn’t quite manage to hide an embarrassed grimace. “That obvious, huh?”

 Isaac shrugged. “Pretty much to everyone who spends time with you… except for Lieutenant Reed, of course.”

 “Right.” Jean shook her head. “’Cause _that_ would only be helpful.”

 They arrived outside Launch Bay One less than a minute later and found Captain Archer pacing outside. He apparently didn’t notice that anyone else was within earshot, because he was muttering to himself. The medical team couldn’t tell what he was saying, and they didn’t have time to puzzle it out because the captain noticed them as he turned on his heel and looked up.

 “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

 Phlox came forward, pushing his gurney until it drew even with Jean’s and smiling benevolently. “It’s quite all right, Captain. We are all concerned for the well being of Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed,” he went on, not seeming to notice the look that Jean shared with Isaac and Liz. “Rest assured, we are capable of dealing with the situation at hand, whatever it may be.”

 There was a bifurcated indicator light by the door, similar to the ones at each airlock. The top half of it was green and the bottom half was red, and shortly after Phlox finished reassuring the captain, the green half lit up.

 “Thanks, Doc.” Captain Archer triggered the doors open and then stood aside to let both medical teams into the bay. Phlox and his team went first, and Jean followed.

 The pod sat in its usual spot in the bay, but it looked strange with its engines missing. The four circular ports where the engine attached were visible, flanked on either side by twin triangles of duranium hull behind the wings. Jean pushed her gurney to the starboard hatch while Phlox staged his on the port side, both making sure to leave enough room for their teams to maneuver. The doctors opened their respective hatches and were greeted by a gust of cold air.

 A lump formed in Jean’s throat when she saw Malcolm’s unconscious form slumped on the deck of the pod. He and Trip were huddled together at the base of the pod’s rear ladder, both wrapped in blankets and sitting on the padded lid of one of the rear storage benches, and Malcolm was loosely holding a phase pistol in his right hand. It looked like they were breathing, but she couldn’t really tell. She had paused in the middle of climbing through the side hatch when Phlox called out for the captain to open the shuttle’s upper hatch in order to let more heat into the small craft. Hearing the Denobulan speak snapped her back into action and she climbed the rest of the way into the pod, moving to crouch in front of Malcolm as she took out her scanner and then ran it over the Englishman. She bit the inside of her cheek while she waited for the results to come up and touched the back of her hand to his face. His skin was ice cold, and he didn’t react to the contact.

 “Doctor, Lieutenant Reed is dehydrated, his heartbeat is irregular and his core temperature is 84.2°F.”

 Phlox nodded beside her. “I’m showing the same readings for Commander Tucker, as well as signs of metabolized alcohol and elevated levels of carbon dioxide in his bloodstream.”

 Their temperatures were dangerously low, and she knew that it was urgent for the doctors to get them warmed up and back to Sickbay as quickly and carefully as possible. In their current state, even a slight jolt during transport could lead to cardiac arrest, so she knew it was imperative that they start the rewarming process right away.

 “Liz, get me the oxygen mask and heating unit. Set the air to a temperature of 107°F, and get a mask ready for Phlox, same setting.”

 “On it,” Liz called from outside the pod, and she handed the items through the hatch a few moments later. “Anything else?”

 Phlox accepted one of the masks from Crewman Cutler and made a thoughtful sound as he scanned Trip. “I’m not detecting any signs of frostbite in either man. Crewman, please turn the shuttle’s heating system back on to increase the ambient air temperature.”

 “Yes, Doctor.” Liz climbed into the shuttle and headed for the pilot’s seat. Once she was sitting, she pressed a few buttons and shook her head at the console. “It won’t be easy without the engine. These displays are running on backup power, but I don’t know if that’ll be enough to get the environmental systems working. The power cells are pretty drained.”

“Do the best you can, Liz. _Any_ heat would be a big help.” Jean gently looped the oxygen mask’s elastic cord around Malcolm’s head and made sure that the mask was seated properly before giving Phlox a nervous glance. “Do you think we should just use the masks for now? Try to make sure their temps hold steady before trying to move them?”

The older doctor nodded, smiling as he secured the second mask over Trip’s face. “I think that would be wise. Considering their status and the cramped space in the Shuttlepod, we risk inadvertently causing cardiac arrest if we try to move them right now. Best to stabilize them first. We’ll also use heating pads on their torsos and heated intravenous fluids. Once their temperatures have risen to about 92°F we should be able to move them safely.”

She nodded back and gave a smile of her own as the shuttle started to warm up. “Thanks, Liz. That should help a little.” Jean looked down at her hand and saw that it was resting on Malcolm’s shoulder. The unconscious lieutenant still hadn’t moved and she gave his shoulder a slight squeeze, mostly to reassure herself that he would be all right.

“Phlox?” She turned her head to look at the other doctor, who was studying his scanner readout. “Do you want to prep the IVs and heating pads while I monitor their progress, or would you rather stay to keep an eye on  them?”

The Denobulan gave her a fatherly smile. “You should stay.” He stood with more grace than a portly man in a smock ought to have and headed for the port hatch. Just before he climbed back out of the pod, he turned around with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Do check on Commander Tucker as well, if you have a moment.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’ll have time.” She managed to play along with the teasing for a few seconds, then shook her head and made a shooing gesture with one hand. “You are worse than _any_ human matchmaker I’ve ever met.”

Phlox only chuckled and climbed the rest of the way out of the pod.

Jean checked her scanner readout, which showed that Malcolm’s temperature was holding steady. She shifted her body slightly to get an angle on Trip and then scanned him. His temperature was also the same, and she let out a relieved breath. A slight movement caught her eye, and she saw that Liz had followed Phlox out of the pod, leaving Jean alone with the two semi-frozen officers.

 “You guys,” she said, shaking her head and giving a breathy, nervous laugh. She gently uncurled Malcolm’s fingers from around the phase pistol with one hand and slid the weapon from his grasp with the other. She held on to one of the lieutenant’s hands and leaned away slightly to put the weapon back into its case.

 “Why were you holding a weapon, hmm? Not that _you_ need a reason, Mal, apart from being you.” She knew better than to expect an answer from him, but talking to unconscious patients was a habit that she had picked up in med school, and she had never bothered to curb the impulse.

 “Are they coming around?”

 The sudden question gave her a start and she smiled shakily at the captain, feeling stupid for not noticing that he had joined her inside the pod.

 She took a steadying breath and shook her head again, gesturing to the phase pistol. “No, sir. I was just wondering what Mr. Reed was doing with that in his hand.”

 Archer smiled at her, laugh-lines deepening around his eyes. “You can ask him soon enough.” His smile faded as he looked past her and his worried gaze settled on Trip. After a moment he nodded at the oxygen mask on Trip’s face. “What are those for?”

 Jean glanced at her scanner readouts before answering. “The masks are giving them heated air, which stops them from losing any more heat through respiration and also helps to warm up their central nervous systems at the brainstem. It’s the best non-invasive way to stabilize their temperatures.”

 The captain seemed to understand and he moved closer, glancing from his officers to the doctor monitoring them. “Can I help at all?”

 “Yes, sir.” She nodded at the captain encouragingly, moving over a little so he could join her. “Start to unwrap the blankets, but only enough so that we can unzip their jackets and uniforms. Try to move their arms as little as possible –“

 “To prevent re-warming shock, I know.” The captain cut her off, then he let his head drop forward and sighed. “I’m sorry, this is just…” He trailed off and sat on the rear bench next to Trip, shaking his head.

 She nodded, not thrilled about being interrupted but understanding that the captain was stressed and that he hadn’t meant to be rude. “I know, sir. We both have best friends who are doing good impressions of popsicles right now, but that’s why Phlox and I need to get them stable instead of just whisking them off to Sickbay. We have to make sure that we give them the best chance of defrosting without any drama.”

 “I’m all for that.” Archer leaned forwards in his seat and started gently uncurling Trip’s fingers from the edges of the commander’s blanket. He frowned, probably at how cold the man’s skin was. “They must have had one hell of a ride out there.”

 “Yes, sir. I have a feeling that there may be more than just physical repercussions from whatever happened to them. As for treating their physical symptoms, Phlox and I will be putting heating pads on them, so when he’s gotten everything ready and he comes back here…”

 Archer smiled tightly as she trailed off. “I’ll let you two work. I think… that does it.” He had managed to free both edges of the blanket from Trip’s hands and let the cloth fall loosely around his friend’s shoulders. Jean had done the same with Malcolm’s blanket while they were talking.

 She almost wished that the captain would leave so that she could touch Malcolm’s face again, but since Archer didn’t seem to be going anywhere just yet, she settled for holding the Englishman’s cold hand. She absentmindedly ran her thumb over his knuckles while checking the scanner readouts of his and Trip’s vitals. If Archer noticed the affectionate gesture, he didn’t comment on it.

 “How are they doing?”

 She was about to answer the captain’s question when Phlox came back to the port hatch, talking half to himself and half to his SIC. “I had to find some way of keeping the IV bags warm while we are in here, which took some doing, but Crewman Cutler was most helpful with devising…” He trailed off when he saw the captain crouched in the pod and his face settled into an expression of mild concern. “Well, this will certainly make matters a bit more interesting.”

 Archer moved from his spot on the bench, giving Trip’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he stood. “I’ll get out of your way, Doctor.” He moved toward the pilot’s seat and started pressing buttons on the console. A few data chips slid out of their ports and Archer picked them up, his expression grave as he put them into one of his uniform pockets. “Maybe Hoshi can find a clue to what happened by looking in the comm logs. I’m sure T’Pol will find something useful in the sensor data.”

 Jean was only half listening to the captain. On some level she knew that ignoring her CO was rude, but just then she couldn’t manage to care. Her focus was on stabilizing the two officers.

 Phlox had hung two IV bags from the rungs of the pod’s rear ladder. Each bag was held in a heated pouch set to 99°F, and Phlox was in the process of putting a peripheral IV line in one of the veins on the back of Trip’s left hand. Jean started to do the same for Malcolm’s right hand, since she could reach that one more easily. She cleaned his skin with a sterile swab, then inserted a needle and catheter into the largest vein she could find, trying not to think about how cold and limp his hand was. He didn’t even flinch when the needle went in. She pushed her concern aside, focusing on doing her job instead of indulging in useless worrying. Jean disposed of the needle and taped the connecting hub in place before starting to hook the IV line up to it. Once she was done, she glanced over at Phlox and saw that he had nearly finished setting up his patient with warmed fluids.

 The doctor glanced over at Jean as he emptied a syringe into Trip’s IV port. “I’m giving Mr. Tucker an IV push of 400cc’s of 5% dextrose in normal saline, and setting his drip for 85cc’s per hour. I recommend the same dosages for Mr. Reed.”

 She mustered a faint smile and did as the doctor instructed. “Understood.” She was nearly done putting Malcolm’s drip at the proper speed when she heard a soft ‘click’. A quick glance towards the sound showed her that Phlox had closed the sharps container which held the needles which they had each used to insert the IVs. “So, hot packs?”

 The Denobulan studied his scanner for a moment and then nodded at her. “Yes, I believe we are ready for that. However, we must be _very_ careful when moving their arms. Even with the warm fluids, they are still in a fragile state, so we should only move the limbs into which we inserted the fluid lines.”

 Jean nodded her agreement. If the doctors moved either man’s extremities while their core temperatures were so low, the even colder blood in Trip’s and Malcolm’s limbs would be pumped into their hearts and cause the rewarming shock which Captain Archer had mentioned, which would lower their overall temperatures and affect cardiac rhythm. At worst, rewarming shock could even cause a fatal heart arrhythmia, which was why the medical team had brought a set of cardio-stimulators along with their other equipment. Of course, everyone hoped that they wouldn’t need to use that particular tool, but they wanted to be ready for any eventuality.

 Phlox made a pleased sound. “Aha, Mr. Tucker’s temperature has risen to 86.8°F.”

 Jean checked her scanner and smiled, feeling relief wash over her. “Lieutenant Reed’s temperature has risen as well. I’m reading exactly 87°F.” She looked down at the deck and spotted one of the warming units by Phlox’s knee. A pile of heating pads was resting on top of the unit. The heating pads were large enough that only three of them would fit on each man’s torso, so the doctors had a total of six pads.

 The other doctor was nodding happily. “Yes, the warmed air and fluids are doing a fine job. We’ll start using the heating pads now.” He looked up at her and gave one of his characteristic grins. “At this rate, we should be able to transport them to Sickbay in less than twenty minutes.”

 She started to move from her seat on the bench in order to grab some of the heating pads, but found that Captain Archer was handing half of them to her before she even stood up. She smiled at him gratefully. The pads were warm in her hand, and she realized that the captain had already switched them on. “Thank you, sir.”

 Archer nodded to her. “Anything for my officers.” He looked at the port side hatch and turned to Phlox. “Doctor, should I tell Cutler and the rest of your team to stand by?”

 “Thank you, Captain. That would be most helpful.”

 The captain nodded again and reached past Phlox to give Trip’s shoulder a light touch. After a moment he removed his hand and headed for the open hatchway. “Take care of them for me, Doc.”

 Phlox nodded solemnly. “Of course, Captain.”

 Still holding the heating pads, Jean checked that they were set to the right temperature and then she unzipped Malcolm’s jacket and his uniform with her free hand. Working quickly, she unzipped his uniform jumpsuit as far as she could without moving him and carefully placed one of the pads on the lower part of his abdomen. She pulled up his jumpsuit’s zipper far enough to hold the first pad in place, carefully put two more pads side by side on his chest and positioned them so that one upper corner of each was tucked between Malcolm’s side and his arm. Her hand stilled for a moment against Malcolm’s chest as she felt the steady, reassuring rise and fall of his breathing. She slipped out of ‘professional’ mode and reached over to brush a bit of his hair back from his forehead, murmuring softly, “You’re going to be okay.”

 He didn’t react at all and she shook her head, scolding herself for getting carried away. This wasn’t the time _or_ the place for affectionate behavior.

 She zipped Malcolm’s uniform up and made sure that the jumpsuit was holding the heating pads in place. It was, and she gave a pleased nod before zipping up his jacket most of the way to help keep the heat close to his body. She left the top quarter of his jacket undone and moved towards the warming unit.

 When she got close to her superior’s elbow, she felt that she should say something to him so he would know that she was in such close proximity. He seemed to take everything in stride and she had never seen him jump in surprise, but there was always a first time and she didn’t want to risk startling him when they were in such cramped quarters. “Everything going okay, Phlox?”

 The doctor smiled as he finished putting the remaining heating pads between Trip’s uniform and the man’s black undershirt. “Yes, yes. Splendidly.”

 Pretty much anyone else would have used a sarcastic tone when they said that, but not Phlox. Jean smiled and shook her head a tiny bit. When she was first working with him, Phlox’s enthusiasm had occasionally annoyed her, but over time she had not only gotten used to it but had actually grown to find it oddly comforting and even amusing at times. She didn’t know if the cheerfulness was a Denobulan cultural thing or part of his individual personality, but the reason didn’t matter. It was just his way.

 She took a towel out of the warming unit and moved back towards Malcolm’s still form. His breathing had improved during the last couple of minutes, and as she got closer he started shivering. She knew that change meant that he was warming up and she wanted to scan him again to see what his vitals were, but the towel in her hands wouldn’t stay warm for very long and she wanted to put it into place while it would still be useful. Fortunately, there was a second pair of hands at her disposal.

 “Liz?” Jean raised her voice slightly, turning towards the starboard hatch when she spoke. “Please scan Lieutenant Reed’s vitals.”

 “Of course, Doctor.” Crewman Cutler climbed into the pod a few moments later and picked up Jean’s scanner.

 Jean wrapped the warmed towel around Malcolm’s neck like a scarf and tucked the ends of it into the front of his jacket, which she then zipped up to his chin. “Liz? What’s the word?”

 Cutler was running the scanner over Malcolm. “Doctor, his temperature is 89.6°F and climbing steadily at a rate of 0.1°F every minute.”

 Jean nodded and her worry continued to decrease as Malcolm’s temperature climbed. “And the Commander?”

 Liz aimed her scanner at him and gave a nod of her own. “Exactly the same, 89.6°F and rising 0.1°F per minute.”

 Phlox sat back from checking Trip’s oxygen mask and smiled. “Excellent progress. Crewman, have the team stage one gurney on either side of the shuttle and position them so that the IV holders are as close to the hatchways as possible. By the time everything is in position, we should be ready to begin transport.”

 “Understood, Doctor.” Liz handed the scanner back to Jean and picked up the warming unit before she exited the pod.

 Jean accepted the scanner and turned to look at Malcolm for a moment. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t nearly as steady as she wanted it to be. “Phlox, do you think they’ll be okay?”

 “Certainly.” The Denobulan nodded, glancing down at his scanner readings as he spoke, and at first she wasn’t sure if he had picked up on the worry in her voice. However, after a few seconds he turned to look at her with a calm but determined expression on his face. “We will make sure that they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Layout of E Deck courtesy of Waxingmoondesign(dot)com and Android Monkey. Pretty pretty pictures of the NX-01 for useful and geeky fun.  
> Procedures for rescuing and treating hypothermic patients courtesy of hypothermia(dot)org, a very informative site.


	7. Welcome Home

The medical team brought Trip and Malcolm to Sickbay without any problems, and Captain Archer followed them there but was careful to stay out of their way. As they walked, Jean had heard him ordering the maintenance crew to start going over Shuttlepod One and then telling Subcommander T’Pol to meet him outside of Sickbay. Jean had idly wondered if the captain was going to wait outside while his officers were treated, but she had more important things to focus on and didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. Corpsman Jenkins and Crewman Cutler had helped her to shift Malcolm onto one of the biobeds. They covered him with a thermal blanket, put a pillow under his head and switched on the bed’s heated covering to help bring up his temperature.

 All of that had been almost three hours ago, and neither officer had woken up yet. Jean checked Malcolm’s vitals for what felt like the hundredth time. He was improving, slowly but surely; his blood pressure and pulse were stronger, his breathing was deep and steady, and his core temperature was up to 96.5°F. He shivered a little, and she hitched the blanket up closer to the neck of his uniform. Both he and Trip had been taken off of the warmed air and IV fluids over an hour ago, and without the medical equipment nearby it looked like they were just sleeping peacefully. She hovered by his bed for another few seconds, as long as she could justify being there, and then stepped into the main area of Sickbay.

 Captain Archer was there, in the middle of what appeared to be an intense conversation with T’Pol. Jean didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she caught a few phrases anyway: ‘micro-singularities’, ‘punctured air tanks’ and ‘damn lucky’ among them. The captain caught Jean’s eye and moved towards her, no doubt wanting an update on his officers.

“Lieutenant?”

 She sighed, wishing that she had better news to give him. “They’re getting better, sir, and they’re both out of the woods, but neither one of them is awake yet. Doctor Phlox is checking on Commander Tucker right now, but if you would like to see Mr. Reed you can go right ahead.”

 Archer smiled at her and nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.” He moved into the recovery area and stood by Malcolm’s bed.

 Jean sighed again. She didn’t know what the captain was expecting, but she understood that he probably needed to see the men for himself, just to ease his worry. She picked up a hypo from one of the equipment trays and fiddled with it, checking that the mechanism was working in an effort to kill time. She was very surprised when, about a minute later, she heard Malcolm’s voice come drifting across Sickbay. It was quiet and low, but that accent was unmistakable, and she grinned, letting out a tiny squeal of joy before she could stop herself.

 Subcommander T’Pol had been going over astrometric data on her hand held scanner, but at the sudden noise she turned to Jean with one eyebrow raised. “Is something the matter, Lieutenant?”

 Jean quickly regained control of herself and shook her head. “No, Subcommander. I’m just relieved that Lieutenant Reed has woken up.” She gave an embarrassed shrug and fiddled with an empty hypo. “That was a happy sound.”

 T’Pol moved towards her with feline grace, the Vulcan version of ‘puzzled’ written on her features. “As his doctor, you were already aware of the fact that Mr. Reed is recovering. I see no reason why his regaining consciousness should cause you to be any more… ‘relieved’ than you already were.”

 All Jean wanted to do was welcome him back, but instead she was stuck having to give yet _another_ explanation for Human behavior to their Science Officer. Not for the first time, she thought that all Vulcans assigned to work with Humans should be required to complete a course in Human behavior as well as one in Anthropology, if only because it would save her from having to give impromptu lectures on those subjects.

 “Seeing readings on a monitor and actually being able to interact with someone are very different. It’s… it’s like the difference between receiving a letter from someone you haven’t spoken to in a long time and having a conversation with that same individual. The readings and the letter are more… one-sided, and humans place a lot of value on being able to interact with one another.” She smiled and moved back towards Malcolm’s bed, hoping to hear some of what he and the captain were talking about. While T’Pol seemed to be mulling over her explanation for squealing like a schoolgirl, Jean overheard something that made her heart stop for a moment.

  _“We saw debris from Enterprise on one of the asteroids. We assumed, we thought you were all…”_

The Englishman’s voice was thick with emotion, and Jean grit her teeth, wishing that T’Pol and the captain would just go away already so she could rush over to Malcolm and help him feel better. A few specific methods of comforting him had already occurred to her…

 T’Pol’s voice broke into Jean’s thoughts. “I believe I understand.” The Vulcan nodded at Captain Archer as he headed for the main door of Sickbay, and she was about to join him when Malcolm called out to T’Pol.

 Jean felt a completely irrational flash of jealousy at that. She _knew_ it was irrational, but she couldn’t help it. She loved him, but he didn’t know that, so it wasn’t as though she had any reason to expect fidelity from him in a romantic sense. Still, it bothered her that he had wanted something from T’Pol, so she allowed herself a not so charitable smile when T’Pol brushed him off with a polite but firm, “ _Good night, Lieutenant._ ”

 Phlox had already stepped away from Trip’s bed and joined the captain near the main doors. He lowered the main Sickbay lights and nodded for Jean to watch over the two officers while he spoke with Captain Archer out of earshot of their two patients.

 Jean put away the hypo she had been fiddling with and moved towards Malcolm’s bed, trying to quiet the butterflies in her stomach. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and she realized that no amount of planning or preparation would get her ready for it.

 She was halfway to his bed, but Malcolm had turned to his left and he didn’t see her approaching. He was speaking to Trip, asking for permission to call the engineer by his nickname. Malcolm sighed when the other man didn’t respond to him. “Sleep well, my friend.” She smiled at the sweetness and uncertainty of the gesture, hoping that whatever had happened on the pod between the two men had, in fact, made them friends.

 He turned to face the ceiling again, and his eyes closed just as she reached his side. His left arm had come out from under the Sickbay blankets at some point, and now the blanket was folded down, leaving most of his chest uncovered.

 She frowned at the rumpled blanket and gently started to ease the covers out from under his arm so she could straighten them. Malcolm’s eyes came open and he stared up at her with a tired sort of awe. “Jean…” His voice broke as he trailed off. He pressed his lips tightly together and he seemed on the verge of tears.

 “Hey, you.” She smiled down at him, resting a hand on top of his hair and running her thumb back and forth over his forehead. The contact seemed to help him steady himself, as she had hoped it would. “Welcome back.”

 His chest rose and fell more quickly than before as he took hold of her free hand and gave it a squeeze. “Jean, I… we thought that the ship, and that you had all…” He faltered and she felt her own eyes welling up at the sight of his distress.

 She cleared her throat and blinked back the tears. “Shush, Mal. It’s okay.” She used the hand which he wasn’t holding to tuck the blanket up under his chin and then smoothed the fabric across his chest. “I heard you talking to the captain.”

 He nodded, seeming relieved, and she let her free hand migrate back towards his forehead. She just couldn’t stop touching him, and he didn’t seem to mind in the least. In fact, he sighed at the touch and gave a watery smile. “God, Jean…” He squeezed his eyes shut. His smile faded away and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

 She gently wiped the tear away with her thumb and leaned close, resting that hand on his shoulder. “What is it, Mal?”

 His voice was just barely above a whisper the next time he spoke. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

 The pain and misery in his voice was just too much for her to bear, and she threw caution to the winds. Almost before she was aware of having made the decision to kiss him, her mouth was pressed to his. She tried to keep her kisses gentle and refrained from making them more passionate until she knew for certain that this was what he wanted from her. She had an awful case of nerves, waiting to see how he would react, but then his lips started moving as well. After a minute, she felt him pull back. She blinked, trying to clear her head and saw him gazing up at her in wonder. She kissed him again, on the forehead this time, and he closed his eyes, a tentative smile tugging at his mouth. When he opened his eyes again she gave him a mischievous smile and lightly pinched the back of his hand.

“Ow.” He rubbed at the sore spot and muttered, “What was that for?”

 She gave him another kiss, brushing this one lightly over his lips, and smiled winningly. “In case you were wondering if this is a dream.”

 He chuckled and nodded ruefully. “I was, actually.” He sighed, smiling up at her. “So,” his gaze flicked down to glance at their joined hands before he met her eyes again, “what happens now?”

 She grinned and squeezed his hand. “We live happily ever after, of course.”

 They were about to kiss again when Jean heard a distinct drawl come from the other occupied biobed. “Did we make it?”

 Much as she wanted to stay and kiss Malcolm senseless, she had a job to do, and she wasn’t about to let her personal feelings for one patient get in the way of looking after another one. She flashed Malcolm an apologetic smile and stood up. He tightened his hold on her hand and frowned, clearly wanting her to stay exactly where she was, but she shook her head. “Sorry, Mal. Duty. Got to.”

 He sighed, nodding, and turned to watch as she moved around the foot of his bed and stood between the two supine officers.

 Although the privacy curtains were tied out of the way, they still partially blocked the officers’ view of each other’s faces. She didn’t know how much Trip had seen of their kisses, so she was a little worried about talking to him. However, she pushed that apprehension aside and concentrated on making sure that he didn’t get agitated.

 “Welcome back, Trip.” She rested a friendly hand on his shoulder to stop him when he tried to sit up. “Sorry, but no getting up just yet.”

 He looked up at her, and when he spoke his voice sounded worried. “Where’s Malcolm? Is he okay too?”

 She gave him a smile and jerked her chin in the direction of Malcolm’s bed. “He’s right next door.”

Trip craned his neck to get a look at the other man, and Jean tucked the privacy curtains further out of the way so the two officers could see each other more easily. He smiled at the other officer. “Hey, Malcolm.”

 The Englishman chuckled, absentmindedly hitching his blanket higher. “Hello, Trip. I suppose this would be as good a time as any for you to admit that I was right about blowing up the engine.”

 Trip let out a chuckle of his own. “An’ maybe now _you’ll_ admit that I was right about us bein’ rescued in time.” He grinned and looked back at Jean. “You saw it?”

 She nodded. “Part of pod goes poof, _Enterprise_ comes running.” Her jovial tone turned serious and she looked from one man to the other, wanting them to know how worried she – and everyone else on board – had been after the explosion showed up on sensors. “You guys scared the crap out of us… _all_ of us. The whole crew’s been holding their breath for nearly two days.” She checked his readings, and shook her head gently. “The two of you almost froze to death, so you’ve gotta stay put for a while, okay?”

 The engineer’s smile faded and he nodded, relaxing back into his pillow and letting his eyes close. “Whatever you say, Doc.” He licked his lips and blinked, looking around the sparsely populated recovery area. “Was expecting more of a welcome party.”

 She shook her head again, smiling ruefully. “You just missed the captain and T’Pol. They’ll be back in the morning.”

 She turned slightly, standing in a way that enabled her to look from one officer to the other by just turning her head, and she let one hand drift over to rest on Malcolm’s arm. He smiled at the touch, glancing down at her hand and covering it with his own before closing his eyes with a happy sigh. A moment’s pause, and then he asked, sounding hesitant, “so, where did the debris come from?”

 “Yeah,” Trip weighted in. “We saw a piece with ‘NX-01’ on it, but that can’t be… I mean… we’re _here_ , so…”

 She gave Malcolm’s hand a comforting squeeze and smiled at them both. “Short version, we met an alien ship in the asteroid field. They had a malfunction and crashed, and they scraped by us as they went down, taking off one of the launch bay doors.”

 Trip frowned. “Was anyone hurt?”

 She smiled, hoping to reassure him. “None of our people, and the aliens all got to their escape pods in time. We took them back to their home planet.”

 Malcolm spoke without opening his eyes, and she noticed that his accent wasn’t quite as crisp as usual. “So that’s why _Enterprise_ wasn’t in the asteriod field when we got back.”

 “Mmm-hmm.” she nodded, glancing over her shoulder at the main Sickbay doors. Captain Archer and T’Pol were gone, and Phlox was sitting at his workstation typing something. “Either of you want something warm to drink? Cocoa or soup, maybe tea?”

 Trip hitched up his blanket. “Sure. Soup sounds good."                                                                                                   

 She smiled at him, then turned to her left. “Mal?”

 He kept his eyes closed and squeezed her hand. “Some tea would be lovely.”

 She squeezed back. “Okay, but it can’t have caffine. You okay with mint or something?”

 Malcolm grumbled quietly, “In that case, I’ll just have soup.”

 “Check. Two orders of chicken soup coming right up. I’ll call down to the Mess and someone will bring it up.” She headed over to the comm panel to put the order in.

 Trip looked over at Malcolm and smiled. “So, I saw you two holdin’ hands just now…”

 The lieutenant let out an annoyed-sounding chuckle, his eyes coming open again. “I feel another ‘I told you so’ coming on.”

 Trip just laughed. “Yeah, but I’m happy for you guys. Aren’t you glad I was right?”

 Malcolm watched as Jean closed the comm and went over to speak with Phlox. She looked over at Sickbay’s only patients and caught his eye. They shared a smile before she turned back to Phlox again. The Englishman cleared his throat and nodded at Trip. “Yes. I just hope that this isn’t a dream.”

 Jean came back over to them. “Okay, a steward will be up here in a few minutes, so just stay put and relax until he gets here.” She stepped away from the bio beds and drew the privacy curtains closed, separating the two men. When she turned to face Malcolm and moved back to his side there was a spring in her step. He looked up at her wonderingly as she leaned in close and gently ran a hand over his stubbly cheek. He smiled at her touch and reclaimed her hand.

 “Now,” she gave an evil grin. “Where were we?”


	8. Unexpected Visit

_Crew Quarters, C Deck, 0210 hours, November 14 2151_

 “I’ll b’right there...”

 Malcolm heard Jean moving around inside her quarters for a few seconds. When she opened the door, bright light from the corridor hit her full in the face, seeming to blind her for a second. As her eyes adjusted and she tried to blink awake, a small furry body slipped past her legs and ventured out into the corridor.

 He smiled down at the cat and reached down to pet her. “Hello Merri. No puss, I’m afraid you can’t come out here.”

 “Malcolm?”

 “Hello.” He stood up from petting the cat, lifting her in his arms so she couldn’t run off. At a glance, he took in Jean’s mussed hair, rumpled clothes and half-awake expression. He grimaced to himself, knowing that in all likelihood he didn’t look much better.

 Seeming thoroughly confused, she gave her head a slight shake and squinted a few times. “Is everything okay?”

 His eyes widened when he noticed her attire, or rather, her lack thereof, and she looked down at herself sheepishly.

 “I'm wearing my blues under here,” she mumbled, gesturing to her oversized t-shirt and blushing slightly.

 Malcolm nodded his understanding and jerked his chin towards the doorway. “May I come in?”

 She nodded, giving him a worried smile. He had made a point of saying that he wanted to spend the night in his own quarters, so he understood why she might be concerned by his sudden presence at her door.

 “Of course. I’ll just… I’ll find some pants.” She moved aside to let him come through the door and smiled at him. He hesitated briefly but then nodded, smiled back, and stepped into her quarters.

 “Thank you. I... “ He turned around, taking in the myriad personal touches in her quarters. Books and knick-knacks on the shelves, pictures, paintings and even a couple wall hangings and rugs. He smiled faintly.

 Still turning, he ended up facing her again and noticed that the door to the corridor was shut. He loosened his hold on Merri and the cat wriggled free, jumping to the deck with a nearly inaudible ‘mraw’ and then standing between the two humans, looking from one to the other expectantly.

 Jean smiled at the cat and bent down to rub her under the chin with one hand while the other rooted through one of her under-bed storage drawers, looking for a pair of pants. “So... what’s on your mind?”

 He gave her a confused look for a moment after she stood up from petting Merri, thinking that she’d been talking to the cat. Once he understood that she was addressing him, he shook his head to rouse himself and saw that she had moved. Now she was standing by her bed, pulling on the stretchy lounge pants she had found and looking over at him expectantly.

 Why _had_ he come here? He scrubbed a hand over his face, lost in thought.

 “Mal,” her voice was soft and warm as she took a seat on the bed and patted a spot next to herself. “Come on, sit and talk to me.”

 Nodding slightly, he moved towards her, only pausing when Merri bumped up against his legs, purring madly. He scooped her up again and carried her over to the bed, absentmindedly running his hands over the cat’s soft fur. She ‘mrew’-ed happily and leaned backwards in his arms, rubbing her head against his chest as if to say ‘you’re _my_ human.’

 Malcolm couldn’t help smiling at the cat’s behavior as he sat down next to Jean. He turned so she would see his smile, but it quickly became a yawn which he muffled against his own shoulder. Afterwards, he blinked and was surprised to feel  Jean’s fingers running through his hair.

 It wasn’t so surprising, really. He smiled to himself, leaning into the touch slightly and letting his eyes close. She had always been affectionate, and today he had finally – _finally –_ managed to tell her how he felt about her. Granted, she had been the one to broach the subject, but he had still managed to say the three words which had changed everything between them.

 She kissed his temple and continued petting his hair. “Sweetie, are you having trouble sleeping?”

 He nodded, starting to shiver a little. Merri seemed to sense the change. She looked up at him and ‘mrew’-ed before starting to lick her paws.

 He smiled down at the cat, but it turned into a confused frown. “I’m not really sure why I came here.” His eyes fell on the clock and he winced. “It’s late. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you. I’ll go back to my quarters...” He trailed off, shaking his head and moving to get up.

 “No. I’m glad you came.” She gently pulled at his arm, looking at him with worry clear on her face. “Malcolm, stop. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

 He was a few steps away from the bed before he turned around, shaking his head very slowly. Their eyes met and he was struck by how worried she looked. Worried for him, which was a consideration he hardly felt worthy of. His usual stoicism deserted him and a torrent of words poured from his mouth as he shivered and absentmindedly started to pet the cat in his arms.

 “Why didn’t we die? It doesn’t make any sense. _Everything_ went wrong out there. The transceiver array and the sensors went offline so we returned to the asteroid field where _Enterprise_ was supposed to be, but there was nothing there. It was the right asteroid field, I know it was, but without sensors or the comm all we had were our eyes.”

 Now he was pacing back and forth from one wall to her desk, getting more and more agitated as he spoke. Jean watched him but didn’t speak, which he was thankful for, because he knew that if she interrupted now he might never find the nerve to open up about this again.

 “I saw something, some debris on one of the larger bloody rocks. It was clearly the wreckage of a starship and we knew for a fact that _Enterprise_ had been there, but we hoped. We hoped it didn’t mean what we thought it meant. Then we saw a piece with ‘NX–01’ still visible on the shredded metal. We knew, or at least we thought we knew, that the ship had been destroyed, and since there weren’t any lifeboats in the asteroid field we assumed that she’d been lost with all hands.

 “There wasn’t anything we could do. No one for us to help or who could help us, no way to gather more information and no tangible enemy to defend ourselves from. We set a course for where we guessed Echo 3 was, planning to broadcast a signal from the away-kit transmitter to Starfleet so the brass on Earth would at least know what happened to their precious ship. There’s only a ten day air supply in the pods and they can’t go faster than impulse, so Trip and I knew that we’d die long before our signal even reached Echo 3.”

 Malcolm crossed his arms tightly as he continued pacing, squeezing Merri and causing her to meow at him in protest. He didn’t really notice so she started struggling, trying to free herself from his arms, and a few seconds later she wriggled loose. As soon as she landed on the deck, the animal looked up at him accusingly.

 “Did you know that I mourned for you?”

 He stopped in front of Jean, looking at her steadily but not really expecting an answer. After a moment he shook his head and smiled bitterly, answering the question as he resumed pacing.

 “Of course you don’t know. How could you? Well, I did... I suppose it made resigning myself to my own death that much easier, thinking that you were already dead.”

 She got up, looking worried again, and took a blanket from the foot of her bed which she unfolded and carefully draped around his shoulders. He smiled faintly at the warmth of the blanket and nodded his thanks. Once the blanket was in place she kissed his cheek and wrapped a comforting arm around his back. Without saying a word, she guided him to sit on the bed again, scooting backwards so she could sit against the headboard while he rested against the wall. She sat with her feet tucked under herself and her knees bent, presumably to give him leg room, but their legs were still touching. Her knees were lightly pressing against the side of his right thigh.

 Sensing that it was safe again, Merri joined them on the bed, rubbing up against both of them but only purring after Malcolm had petted her and rubbed her ears to apologize for squeezing her. Satisfied by his apology, she seemed to nod at him and then situated herself between the two humans, tucking her paws underneath herself and closing her eyes contentedly.

 Jean smiled at the cat and then gave Malcolm an assessing glance. He shifted uneasily under her scrutiny, aware of the fact that his fatigue must be much more evident by now than it had been at first. She laid a gentle hand on his knee through the fuzzy blanket and her voice was soft and gentle when she spoke. “What happened next, sweetheart?”

 Much to his surprise, the talking actually seemed to help, so when she prompted him, he didn’t hesitate to continue with the story.

 “Shortly thereafter, the pod was hit by something and our air supply went down to less than three days’ worth. About a day later, just when Trip and I had begun to accept that everyone from the crew was dead and that we’d soon be joining them, we got a hail. Trip had got the transceiver working well enough to receive but not send messages. It was hard to tell through all the static but it was Hoshi, telling us that the rendezvous had changed.

 “I can’t tell you how glad we were to hear her voice. We’d gone through half the bottle of bourbon by then and we were both half pissed, but the hail gave us a real reason to be hopeful again. I was so relieved to hear that the crew was safe that I didn’t do the maths. Trip was lucid enough to, though, and he worked out that we’d run out of air several hours before the rendezvous.

 “In less than five minutes we went from thinking that the crew was dead and that we’d be dead soon, to thinking that the crew was safe and we’d be rescued, to finally knowing that the crew was safe but that we’d be dead when you found us. I don’t mind the idea of dying in battle, not much really. I don’t wish for it but I – I know that it’s an occupational hazard, being this far out in deep space, and especially with my job, but to just sit passively and wait for the Grim Reaper doesn’t suit me.”

 His voice trembled slightly at the end, giving him away, and she gently prodded him. “What was that last part you said?”

 He had closed his eyes but opened them again to look at her curiously. They were sitting so close that she couldn’t have misheard him, so why did she ask? However, he was too tired to wonder about it too much.

 “I said that passively waiting for the Grim Reaper doesn’t suit...” His eyes squeezed tightly shut and he shook his head once, trying to will away the bad memory. He swallowed hard, past a lump starting to form in his throat.

 The light touch on his knee grew a bit firmer. “What’s wrong, Malcolm?”

 She sounded truly concerned, and that little bit of sympathy sent him over the edge. When he’d been on the pod with Trip, all he’d wanted was for the other man to understand what he was trying to do, or at least to sympathise. After all, they were, quite literally, in the same boat. But no, Trip hadn’t done that. He hadn’t even tried to at first, instead choosing to insult and belittle Malcolm’s letters. Even when he had encouraged Malcolm during that last letter, all of his cruel remarks from earlier on were ringing in the lieutenant’s ears, and the gesture had been tainted by the knowledge that Trip’s belated kindness was motivated more by guilt than any sort of fellow-feeling. But now, now that someone was finally being so genuinely kind to him, he was just so relieved that, without really thinking about it, he unfolded his heart to her.

 “On the pod I recorded logs, letters mostly, to my parents and a few ex-girlfriends. I just wanted to say goodbye to them and tell them how much they meant to me. I have quite a few exes and Trip seemed to think that since there were so many of them that I... I couldn’t really have been sincere in what I was saying to each of them. He called me a ‘regular Grim Reaper’ and said that all I was doing was writing my own obituary.”

 He knew that his voice was unsteady and laced with emotion, but he was much too upset to care. A small part of him was still thinking rationally and it wondered why Trip’s comment – _accusation_ , the emotional part amended – why Trip’s accusation was bothering him so much.

  _Did he think I had a death wish? He’d nearly said as much, ‘as far as you’re concerned, the sooner the better,’ but why am I so bloody upset? I know it isn’t true... or is it?_ The tiny voice sounded suspiciously like his father, and it cut at him deeply. He hunched in on himself unhappily and squeezed his eyes shut.

 “Our situation _was_ hopeless. Acknowledging that doesn’t make me a pessimist. If Trip wants to try throwing a bloody lasso around the sun I won’t stop him, but I’m not in the habit of relying on hope. I saw the facts and I tried to cope accordingly. The hail from Hoshi gave me hope but then realizing that we’d still suffocate was absolutely crushing. I suppose that’s why I see the glass as half empty most of the time; if you expect the worst and don’t get your hopes up it’s much harder to be disappointed.”

 She seemed to understand that he was talking more to himself than to her, so she merely nodded, starting to pet his arm through the blanket in a soothing way. “Looking for potential problems is a big part of your job. Besides, it makes sense to prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

 His hand found a pillow and he put it in the corner formed by the wall and the headboard. When it was firmly wedged in place he let his head rest against it, shifting around on the bed to get more comfortable.

 “That’s right. I don’t know why he had to say that.” He was getting sleepier with each passing minute. He knew that his face was twisted with sadness so he pressed it into the pillow, not wanting her to see how upset he was.

 Her hand had migrated up his arm and was now resting warmly on his shoulder. “I bet he didn’t really mean it. Still, it wasn’t a kind thing to say.”

 He shook his head against the pillow, not trusting himself to open his eyes or look at her. “No, it wasn’t.” He hoped that speaking into the pillow would muffle his answer enough to hide the quaver in his voice.

 It didn’t.

 “You said you have a lot of ex-girlfriends?” Her voice was curious but gentle, not accusing as he’d expected it to be. After all, she was, to all intents and purposes, his new girlfriend, so some part of him realized that this particular point would pique her interest. Of course she would want to know about his past in that department, but once she found out, would she still want to be with him? Would she want to run the risk of becoming ex number six, yet another piece of debris on the Malcolm Reed Highway to Heartbreak?

  _I hope she doesn’t think I’m callous towards women... but what if I am? Is that why Rochelle and the rest left me?_

 He had to forcibly stop himself from wincing when the same old doubts weighed in again. There was still a lump forming in his throat but now he ignored it, trying to make his voice sound steady.

 “I wrote letters to five of them. Like I told Trip, none of those relationships ended well because I couldn’t… I never got very close to any of the girls.”

 An expression of regret settled on his face and he tried to pull the blanket closer to himself.

  _Why do all my relationships end the same way? What am I doing wrong?_

 He felt a gentle, pricking heat start behind his eyes and tried to swallow past the rapidly growing lump in his throat. _What’s wrong with me?_

 The next thing he knew, she leaned over and drew him into a warm hug. “Well, here’s one girl you _have_ gotten close to, so you don’t have to worry about us breaking up because of that _._ I happen to care about you very much, Mal, and I’m not going anywhere.” She kissed his cheek and held him a bit tighter. “I love you, mister, and there is no conceivable circumstance where I would _stop_ loving you. You’re not getting rid of me.”

 He froze, but after a moment of indecision he put his arms around her tentatively. She had held him before, of course, when he was ill and during a couple of water-related panic attacks, but there had been nothing sexual about their relationship then. Today had changed all that, and he wasn’t sure if she would still be willing to offer that kind of comfort now that the nature of their relationship had shifted so dramatically. Would she be willing to just hold him, or would she expect a repeat of how they had spent most of that day? He certainly didn’t feel up to any lovemaking at the moment. When she didn’t move away or try to pull him into a more intimate embrace, he held her close to himself and tucked her head under his chin, closing his eyes and silently thanking whatever power had seen fit to bring her into his life.

 She moved a little to one side and rested her head on his shoulder. He relaxed his arms slightly to let her get more comfortable, and tried to compose himself. “Thank you,” he said to her hair, hugging her tightly once again.

 “What for?”

 “For not turning me away… for listening, for… just for _caring_.”

 “Hey,” she ran a hand over his back and pressed a kiss to his chest. “You are so very, very welcome. I’d never turn you away, sweetie. _Never._ I’m here for you, always, and I’m glad you feel safe enough with me to talk about things that are bothering you.” She used the hand that was resting on his back to lightly cuff him on the back of his head, chuckling. “And of _course_ I care, you incredibly silly person. I love you! If you’re in pain, I want to help you feel better, and if you’re happy I want to make sure that lasts as long as possible.”

 “I…” His voice was thick with unshed tears, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I love you, too.” The pricking behind his eyes was growing stronger every second and he didn’t know whether he could keep control of himself. A sudden warm pressure on his thigh took him by surprise, and when he opened his eyes to see what it was, his vision seemed distorted.

 Everything was wavy and rounded, as though he was looking through sea glass. He squinted and saw that Merri had put her front paws on his leg. She was looking up at him with one ear turned back in mild confusion.

  _One of my humans is upset. I’ll ask him what’s wrong._

 He could almost see what was going on in her small furry head and smiled despite himself when she ‘mreow’ed up at him curiously, but the smile faded very quickly when he felt wetness sliding down his face. Squinting might have cleared his vision, but it let some of the tears he’d been holding back fall onto his cheeks.

  _Bloody wonderful. And there goes my last shred of pride._

 Ever inquisitive, Merri climbed up to sit on his thigh and stretched out to her full length, reaching one forepaw up to steady herself on his shoulder while the other paw gently dabbed at some of the moisture on his cheek. She settled back on her haunches to examine the wet paw. Both ears swivelled forward as she sniffed at the underside of her paw, nose almost touching the large fleshy pad.

 Malcolm watched her, glad to be distracted by watching what Jean called the Feline Bureau of Investigation at work. When she’d finished sniffing, she quickly licked her paw and then tilted her head up to look at him again.

 In a flash, the cat had navigated the jumble of legs, arms, and shoulders on her way up to Malcolm’s face. She nosed at one of his cheeks, examining the tears there and delaying their progress, while a few ran down the other side of his face, unchecked, and dripped from his chin into Jean’s hair.

He was horrified by the realization. He was crying on her, for pity’s sake.

 But what did she do? She rubbed his back gently, murmuring soothing nonsense in his ear. She pulled away slightly after a few moments, and he was sure that she had had enough of being wept on, but she just smiled at him sympathetically and reached for a box of tissues which she kept by her bed. She handed a few tissues to him and then wrapped him in a hug again, urging him to rest his head just below her shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around the back of her waist while the other was busy swiping at his face with the tissues. After a moment he started to pull back, trying to choke out an embarrassed apology.

 “Oh God… I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

 “It’s okay, Mal, just let it out.” She petted his hair soothingly, shaking her head and continuing to hold him close. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing you need to worry about right now. You aren’t a grim reaper, Malcolm, you _aren’t_. I know you aren’t. You are a kind, brave and very silly man, and I love you with all my heart.”

 The remnants of his defenses crumbled at that. He tried to hold back a ragged breath but failed miserably. “Jean, I… I thought you were dead. Thinking I’d never see you again… for a moment, I almost _did_ want to… I just… I couldn’t bear…”

 “My poor sweetheart.” She guided his head down slightly, holding it just to the left of centre on her chest. “Hear that, Mal? That’s my heartbeat. Just listen to it for a while, okay? Let it reassure you that I’m all right.”

 He gulped in a breath and nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else.

 One of her hands left his back and settled in the centre of his chest. It started moving in a small firm circle, forcing the tightness in his chest to relax and letting him breathe more evenly. All the while she was talking to him gently and pressing warm kisses to his hair, trying to comfort him.

 “Shush. It’s all right, Malcolm. It’s all right, sweetheart. _Shhh_. Try to breathe easy. You’re safe. Everything’s all right now.”

 Malcolm sighed happily, even as his tears seemed to start coming faster. It was just like he’d imagined on the pod; she was holding him, soothing him, and telling him that it was okay. He almost laughed, realizing that the simplest part of his fantasy, impossible as even that had seemed at the time, had come true. His other fantasies involving her had also unexpectedly come to life, and despite the tears still coursing down his face, he felt safe and contented. On the shuttlepod, he’d been surprised that T’Pol was the focus of his dream, when it was usually a different brunette who occupied his thoughts, especially his more romantic ones.

 Jean started gently wiping his face with a clean tissue. “Here, sweetie. Let’s clean you up.” He reached up to take the tissue from her and once he had it, he cleared his nose into it with an embarrassed grimace, wishing that there was some way to do that without making any noise.

 “Sorry,” he croaked out, feeling his cheeks heat.

 She kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay, sweetie. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re safe here... “

 He smiled into her shirt, patting her back with one hand as his tears slowed. “I know that, darling. Thank you for listening to me, but I should really go back to my quarters now...”  However, he couldn’t bring himself to get up. Instead he settled against her more heavily, letting her comforting warmth make him even sleepier than he already was. Neither of them said anything for a while, although he did muffle a few yawns against her chest.                                                                                        

She started petting his hair again, doing it in such a way that he all but melted into her touch. After doing that for a while, she murmured, “You really need to get some sleep.”

 He tried to look up at her without shifting position, but all he could see of her face was the corner of her jaw, part of her mouth and the lower half of one cheek. It wasn’t enough for him to read her expression, but he was comfortable and didn’t want to move just yet. “Are… are you sending me away?” he asked cautiously.

 “No.” She answered quickly, shaking her head before settling against the locker again. “No, of course not, sweetheart. Stay here as long as you want to. I want you to stay. I invited you for the night, remember? That invite is still good.”

 He let out a relieved breath and allowed himself to smile slightly as his eyes drifted shut. “Then I’ll stay.” 

 

* * *

 

 A few minutes later Jean tried a soft, “Mal? Are you awake?”

 “Mmhhn.” He moved slightly, resting his cheek against the left side of her collarbone.

 A bit louder, “Malcolm?”

 No response. She tangled her fingers in his hair, smiling when he reacted by sliding down and nuzzling his face into her chest. His hair tickled her chin and she giggled softly. “You really are a very silly man. C’mon, Malcolm. Lie down now so you can get some proper sleep.”

 “Hggn.” He muttered something unintelligible against her skin, but from what she could tell, it didn’t sound like he disagreed. Of course, he _was_ asleep.

“Alright, sleeping beauty. Let’s get you under the covers.” She eased him down from where he’d been sitting against the wall, moving the abandoned pillow so his head could rest on it again. He didn’t seem to mind, or notice, being moved around, and cooperated as she guided him to lie down.

 She kicked back the blankets, shifting around so that she and Malcolm were lying on top of the sheets with the covers in a tangled lump by their feet. After checking that he was still in dreamland, she stood up and straightened the blankets so they would cover him. That done, she thought for a moment about her next move. Malcolm had been cleared for duty the next day, and since she wanted to make the next morning go as smoothly as possible, she needed to go get a few things.

She pulled on a pair of shoes and left her quarters with a stealth that would have made the slumbering Tactical Officer proud, heading for said officer’s quarters. Several minutes later she was back, laden with a clean and neatly folded uniform, a clean set of regulation blues, a pair of socks, boots, and his shaving kit. She opened the locker which stood at the foot of her bed, making sure to be quiet about it. She didn’t keep anything on the two lowest shelves, so that seemed like the perfect place to put most of her acquisitions, with the exception of the boots, which she set on the deck plating, and the shaving kit, which she put next to the sink in her bathroom so Malcolm could be all set up to shave and comb his hair the next morning. Once all the preparations had been made, she slid off her shoes and grinned to herself.

 “And now,” she whispered to the silent room, “the part we’ve all been waiting for.”

 She shucked her pants and t-shirt, tucking them back into their trundle drawer and shutting it with the utmost care. She would normally have just left them draped over the back of her armchair, but she knew that would offend Mal’s sense of order. Her man did like things to be tidy. Her grin got wider. _Her_ man. He was hers. _Finally_ hers.

 She stepped to the bed, admiring him while he slept. Malcolm was lying on his stomach, the right side of his face smushed into the mattress as he breathed quietly. He was hers, sure enough, and he was taking up most of the bunk. “Mal, honey?” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to get a response without actually waking him up. “Move over for me?”

 He made a sound that she couldn’t decipher and frowned in his sleep, rolling onto his right side and muttering “…transceiver…”

 She knew that the transceiver was one of the first things on the shuttlepod that went offline, and she hoped that he wasn’t having a nightmare about that hellish experience. Living through it once was bad enough and had done a fair amount of damage to her beloved Malcolm, so the thought of him having to relive it while he slept made her heartsick. ‘If it gets bad, I’ll wake him,’ she resolved, pulling back the covers.

 She got under the covers and turned on her side, glancing over at him before closing her eyes. A second later she felt him pressing up behind her and couldn’t help but smile. “Look who’s friendly all of a sudden.”

His only answer was to make a soft sound of contentment against her shoulder and wrap a possessive arm around her waist.

 “Now _this_ is what I call a birthday present. It’s about damn time we fell asleep together. You’d better plan on making a habit of this, Mal, ‘cause from here on out I don’t intend to go to bed un-cuddled,” she muttered into the pillow, rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric and beginning to feel herself drifting off to sleep.

 He mumbled something which she didn’t catch, pulling his arm more firmly about her waist, and she twisted around to see his face. He looked happy. Peaceful. After a bit of hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him very softly on the lips. He didn’t exactly wake up, which was good, since he needed to get some sleep, but he did kiss her back. It was a gentle, sleepy kind of kiss, and she smiled afterwards.

 “G’Night, Mal.”

She lay down again, settling happily into the warm, if very full, bed. Within minutes she was fast asleep.

 

**THE END**


End file.
